


Caged

by Nicxan



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26415160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Papa Emeritus IV goes to the graveyard to complete a ritual. He receives help, whether he wants it or not.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Ghost BC Reverse Big Bang 2020





	Caged

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Reverse Big Bang event! I cowrote this with werewolfkeeper (on Ao3), who is an utter joy. 
> 
> The art for this event hasn't been posted yet, but it was by the wonderfully talented [teriopi](https://teriopi.tumblr.com/)! I will link it here ASAP. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It had been eight months since he had ascended to papadom.   
  
It still felt surreal to think about. Copia remembered the ritual onstage, how the people cheered, the sheer energy he felt while strutting about the stage, showing off his vestments ... he remembered it all. He had never felt so powerful before...and he hadn’t felt as powerful since.   
  
_Being_ Papa, it turned out, was a lot more work than he thought it would be. Paperwork, more paperwork, leading sermons, heading rituals, delegating tasks to clergy members, Siblings of Sin and ghouls ... then even more paperwork. He barely had time to sleep at night, he barely had time to eat. And yet? It was still the most rewarding thing. 

He had fought for this. He had _earned_ this.   
  
Today happened to be another ritual day. This one, however, was different from the majority of rituals he performed. Most rituals were done privately, and this was no exception; that wasn’t what made it strange. This ritual took place outside in the cold winter air, away from the abbey.   
  
Copia didn’t mind this at all. For one thing, his new, layered vestments would keep him warm. The other thing was that he just enjoyed winter anyways. Most people found it somewhat drab with all the dead trees, but he found a certain beauty in it -- part of the cycle of nature, the death that would lead into rebirth.   
  
The snow crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the cemetery on the ministry grounds. He kept his arms tucked in his sleeves, let out a trembling breath, marveling at how he could see it in front of him. He watched it disappear, then looked towards his surroundings.   
  
The cemetery had a copious amount of trees strewn about, all old and ancient as the buildings themselves. Their branches reached out over the tombstones, lingering above them in an ominous way that Copia simply adored. He smiled as he walked past the scenery, threatening to crack his papal makeup as he did so.   
  
The tombstones read the names of former failed Papas and former Sisters and Brothers of Sin. Some had objected to the lack of respect to passed ghouls, but they had their own plots. Same as did the Papas that had succeeded so wonderfully and brought light to Lucifer’s name. They had their place within the abbey -- inside, honored, and revered.   
  
That was not to be the case for the three brothers of the Emeritus bloodline.   
  
In Sister Imperator’s opinion -- and his own, really -- they had failed. None of them had spread their message far and wide enough. They hadn’t helped topple world governments, they hadn’t converted world leaders ... nothing. Perhaps they had gathered more Siblings of Sin, sure, but that did not mean too much in the grand scheme of things.   
  
Thus, now that their bodies were no longer being touted around as odd display pieces on tour, it was finally time to lay them to rest in their own shared grave. The ritual that he would have to do would bring them to their final end, drawing the curtain on their posthumous “careers”. This was something he would have to do on his own, he was told. Copia had accepted that.   
  
So he was quite surprised when there was a familiar figure hunched over a drawn pentagram. The woman was wearing her typical winter dress, but it was the old, well-worn black coat that nearly hid her figure. Even still, he recognized her immediately. He would be able to recognize her anywhere, really.

Sister Imperator's eyes flickered up at the sound of Copia’s footsteps, but not long enough to catch and hold his startled stare.

"The blood will have to be yours," she announced, gesturing to the as yet to be drawn circle around the sigil. "Which is not to say that mine would not hold, but ..." Slowly, the old witch got back to her feet, taking the time to wipe the snow and dirt from the knees of her skirt and flick the rest off her hands. The runoff disappeared in one elegant flip of her wrists. "We wouldn't want to break from tradition, would we?"

Was that a hint of sarcasm in her voice? She knew just as well that the unceremonious burial ritual was meant to be performed in solitude by the reigning antipope -- but that bridge had already been come to, crossed, and burnt behind them, apparently. It was sacrilege for anyone below the antipapal station to perform such rites, but such hierarchies had never concerned Sister Imperator. As best as Copia could always tell, she considered herself above such things.

She took a step back to show off her handiwork: three songbirds, feathered respectively in red, green, and royal purple, resting broken-necked within the lines of the pentagram's heart. 

"I would have invited your Ghouls, as well," she offered rather quickly, taking away his opportunity to question _her_ company, "but they were ... not willing to play gentle with the carcasses. I had to chase them out of the cemetery. But I think that will be for the best."   
  
“I ... see.”   
  
Copia wasn’t too surprised about this. Dewdrop especially would have been an absolute nightmare to contain, never mind Rain once he got the scent of blood. He swallowed the lump in his throat, then took a few steps towards Imperator and the birds. They looked so serene in death, just laying there, beaks open, wings splayed ... He felt queasy looking at them, knew how obvious that would be to his mother, but still tried to force himself to cover it with a nod and a tight smile.   
  
He had so many questions, but they would be wasted on her. Sister Imperator only answered what she wished to answer -- and he was certain that she would be neither straight nor plain with her reason as to why she was here. He could take a few solid guesses, though: maybe she just wanted to ensure that this would be done properly. Maybe she wanted to be sure his brothers were in the ground and would stay there. Either way, here she was. He would do best to come to terms with it.   
  
Copia made his way into the pentagram, leaning down to grab the ritual dagger as he did so. He crouched next to the birds, but was sure to not look at them too closely. It would only distract him from what needed to be done. He could feel the weight of Imperator’s stare on him as he removed one of his gloves and when he wrapped a bare, shivering hand around the blade of the dagger.   
  
Once the blood started to fall, he was sure to make a proper circle of it, cursing the cold for the way his whole arm shook as he did so.   
  
“We’ll have help to put the actual bodies in the grave, yes?” he asked, surprising himself with the nonchalance, as he glanced over at the three coffins nearby. They were massive, black, and surprisingly plain -- each one hid one of the former Papas inside of them, but with such a lack of fanfare, no one would ever suspect as such. “When the time comes. Rather heavy, those caskets. Can’t lift them on my own.” 

“Of course,” Imperator sniffed. She sounded offended by the mere idea of it. “ _That_ is Ghoul work. They’ve already been volunteered - the large ones,” she remarked, as if she hadn’t been the first to know their names, “and the Ghoulettes will help when the time comes.”   
  
Copia craned his neck to take a brief look around. Where had the Ghouls gone, then? Had they been sent back to the chapel to wait or were they merely told to hang back until the rites were finished? No matter what, they were out of sight, so he quickly decided that it wasn’t important, and went back to his work. 

... But not before noticing something dark pass through Imperator’s eyes. He watched her make the effort to unclench her teeth to let him know, "You'll only need to go through the motions, besides the circle. In honesty," for as little of it as she ever bothered to spare, "I took care of all the practical aspects as soon as you returned from Mexico."  
  
That brought Copia to full attention, snapping his thin braid of focus and concentration. She had already _done it_ ? That which was meant to be _his_ ritual, but Sister Imperator -- 

"They've been bound for months,” she went on, either unaware of or -- more likely -- unconcerned with his distress. “I would have preferred to have done it as soon as you took the band, but...well, Papa thought they deserved one last ride." That tight setting in her jaw came back, and she clearly did not mean for anyone else to hear her utter, "Stupid old bastard."  
  
Copia had to take a breath to calm himself, then slipped the glove over his bleeding hand. These gloves would be ruined, but that was all right. He had many other pairs that he could wear if it came down to it. That wasn’t important right now.   
  
“It’s already been done,” he repeated aloud, not even bothering to hide the shock in his voice. He just stared at Sister Imperator, bewildered.

Imperator clicked her tongue, disapproving. “You looked absolutely miserable when we went over the steps last night. Do you think I wouldn’t have accounted for that?”

“But ... I ... look, yes, the birds were one thing, I’ll admit. But I can do _this_. Could have done it,” he stammered out. More anxious than concerned with the open slice in his palm, he wrung his hands together and then rose to his feet to stare at the fresh, crimson blood on the pure white snow. He couldn’t even bear to look at his mother right now.   
  
Being the one to bind the spirits of the elder Emerituses would have given him great joy. They had always been so cruel to him, so rude, and utterly callous, disparaging towards his position in the ministry -- even when he made Cardinal, as Papa Nihil’s second. He was someone who _deserved_ respect, despite the years he put into working for it, the Second and Third refused to give it to him.   
  
This was supposed to be _his_.   
  
“Why?” Copia asked rather quietly. Had he been too busy reveling in his new position to notice? Maybe Imperator thought he was too busy to care. Maybe the past few months had too obviously been an adjustment period and this would have been “too much”? No, all of that was wrong. He _could_ have done it if she had just given him the chance. It would’ve been his chance to prove himself, to start the new chapter properly.   
  
... All he could do was the motions. If she would not understand why this was infuriating, it was hopeless.

He could just barely see Imperator's shoulder rise in a dismissive shrug. Coming from her, that could mean anything -- so varied were the options, in fact, that he didn’t want to bother exhausting himself running through the possibilities. It could be anything from plain not trusting him to wanting to control everything for herself. That was what she always did, anyway, was it not? She wouldn’t tell him, either way. Copia had never known her to not be dodgy about her methods and motivations, but it was something he had learned to live to throughout the years. 

"It doesn't matter why," she insisted. "It has been done. And you will do the _rest_ , as is customary." She seemed to be fighting the same battle as he was to not exchange glances, instead choosing to glare down her nose at the display before them.   
  
A moment of unproductive, tense silence passed before she spoke up again, with less patience.   
  
"Well? Is this how you would like me to spend my afternoon? With three soulless disappointments and an ungrateful fourth? Get on with it!"

Copia felt a rush of anger course through his veins, but forced it down before Sister could notice it. He would hardly call himself ungrateful, but he knew better than to bite back. Instead, he only bit his tongue as he clasped his hands together, stepping outside of the center of the pentagram and away from the dead birds that lay in the snow. 

This time, the quiet proximity softened the scowl on Imperator’s face. Copia could hear the change in her tone -- her jaw had unclenched again, and she sounded almost ... reassuring. Her own brand of reassuring, of course.   
  
"Remember, _Papa_. It is the performance that counts. Not what happens backstage."   
  
Being called ‘Papa’, especially by his mother, always gave him a bit of a thrill. It never got old, even after all this time. But _as_ Papa, this was his task to do. So why did she rob it from him? He’d have to find some enjoyment out of this even though the actual event was already done.   
  
Copia muttered the appropriate Latin under his breath, walking around the circle of the pentagram at the appropriate pace. Bind the spirits in the circle, force them into the birds, _trap_ them in the birds -- the only vessels that could hold a soul.   
  
“ _Connectre._ ” Copia splayed his hand out towards the purple bird, pausing across from it. He waited a few moments, as was customary, and dared to imagine the spirit of the third Emeritus entering the body of the bird. He felt a certain pressure on the left side of his face, close to his eye -- and it faded as quickly as it came. “ _Alliges duplicia._ ”   
  
He wished he could see the glow around the bird as the soul became bound to the corpse. It must have been quite the sight, something that would have shown that he _did_ have the proper abilities to be Papa. Copia made himself dismiss the thought and rerouted his anger towards the other two birds.   
  
_“Connectre. Alliges duplicia.”_   
  
Again.   
  
_“Connectre. Alliges duplicia.”_   
  
It should have been more fulfilling. It should feel better than it did. Yet, Copia just felt somewhat hollow looking at the birds that already had the souls of the dead Papas inside of them. It _was_ a performance -- just a smokescreen. What happened backstage _made_ the magic.   
  
Was this going to be his Papacy? Just an act?   
  
He stood silently over the birds, staring at them, unable to look away. 

“All leadership is something of a performance,” Imperator spoke up after allowing the appropriate amount of reverence to pass. “You, born of flash _and_ substance, should know that better than your …” _Brothers._ “... Predecessors ever could. And anyway, some of these traditions could use the upgrade. There are plenty of very capable Sisters of Sin, ready and willing to aid you." 

Copia knew that she also included herself in that -- she would help even if her help wasn’t anticipated or asked for because that is what she had always done. But she couldn’t just mean herself, could she? No, she prided herself too much on how she led, what she taught and imparted upon her organization.  
  
She proved his hypothesis when she added, "Not everything needs to have a Papa's touch, exclusively."  
  
“Perhaps not.”   
  
He still kept staring at the birds. His mother wasn’t wrong -- if he tried to do everything, he would crumble under burnout. And a leader couldn’t show weakness -- especially not him, especially not now. He needed to remain strong. When would he have to stop proving himself? He had no idea, but he would go along with it. At least for now.   
  
Copia stepped out of the pentagram, finally tearing his eyes away from the tiny corpses in front of him. Instead of looking at Sister, he looked towards the coffins. It was about time to finally lay them to rest in the shared grave. Maybe some would be offended by the fact that they would all share a tombstone. He, however, did not care.   
  
This was the price for their failures.   
  
And with that in mind, what did it matter, the space their decomposing bodies shared in the dirt? The single (garishly oversized, all things considered) headstone said all it needed to: _Emeritus_. Allowing them to lie under their family name was a courtesy they frankly did not deserve. So many of those who came to this part of the graveyard were dumped even less ceremoniously, en masse, into an open pit and promptly forgotten. Separating them into individual boxes was more kindness than they had ever allowed him. So, did that really become his problem?   
  
No. No, it didn’t. And now the things that _were_ his problem could be updated. Could be changed.   
  
“Well, now,” he muttered. “Would be quite nice to delegate a bit, now that you mention it. Perhaps -- yes, perhaps we could look into some of the dear old Papa’s rituals, see if we can’t improve them a bit.”   
  
Now that Nihil was gone -- now that his era was over -- it would be so much easier to upgrade, change, flourish. They were not bound to the old ways. Not like the other Emerituses. No, they could now be bigger. Grander. _Better_.   
  
“Because this --” He pulled off his glove again, wincing at the blood that stained the leather. Yes, he would have to change these out. What a shame. He had cut deeper than he had meant to, and the blood just kept seeping from the cut. “-- this hurt rather quite a bit.”

Copia saw Sister flinch out of the corner of his eye. She most likely thought she got it past him -- and he knew better than to draw attention to it. Besides, she had a smile to come shortly after. Whatever it had been must not have been too serious, if such a relief could wash over her. She even took his hand in between both of hers.

"Your father felt the same way," she said, eyes on her fingers instead of her son's face. "But he always cut himself open, too, before I could take care of it." She traced the line of split flesh and even put a flashy little glow, presumably for his benefit, into it as the cut in his palm knit itself back together.   
  
Copia watched in awe as the cut sealed itself up -- by all accounts, that should be impossible, yet here they were. He found comfort in his mother’s touch, but it only showed in the way that he slightly sagged forward. No one was here. It was safe to show a bit of vulnerability. At least, for now.

"He was burdened by the old ways." But it was what Sister said next struck him to his core. All this time, he thought she needed him to live up to his father’s legacy, and yet, what she told him was: "You will not be like him."   
  
_‘Thank Lucifer for that,’_ he thought. How did it feel to be so afraid of new ways? How did it feel for Nihil, for all of them to be afraid of something _fresh_ ? The Second and Third detested him, the First distrusted him the same as his father did ... they were all so stuck. And there was no advancing it. The only way out was death. A shame, truly, but what else could be done? Nothing.   
  
The Siblings of Sin, meanwhile, had split. Many were still angry at him, blaming him for the _departure_ of Nihil and his “proper” heirs. Others, though, found relief, felt less stifled -- just like he did. But, all in all, iIt was a hard line to walk when people were afraid of ushering in a new era.   
  
“I’m trying to not be,” he replied as he flexed his hand. “But it is ... frustrating. It almost feels like we are walking alone.”   
  
Sister kept his hand between hers. Physical comfort had never been her strong suit, but he appreciated her efforts here. He had never been on the receiving end of it much, growing up, but at least he was getting it now -- when he really needed it. 

"You are not," she assured him. "You have the mistakes and ..." Sister’s words seemed to catch in her throat for a moment. Why, Copia didn’t know. But he remained silent and let her continue. "... the efforts, the ... successes of those who came before you as your guide. You have loyal followers of all walks. And a mother who will solve the problem of those less willing to bow until there are no more problems."

He knew exactly what that meant. And even still, it was a relief, in its own way, to know that resistance was not his to worry about. Not right now, at the very least. He’d strike fear into the appropriate hearts when needed, though. He had no choice.   
  
“Thank you, _madre_.” Copia placed his other hand over Sister Imperator’s and squeezed gently. He smiled earnestly and finally met her gaze. “Your support has meant and continues to mean the world to me.”   
  
She was right, and he wasn’t sure why he had lost sight of that for a while. It had felt like an upward climb, a secondary battle, but he could follow the steps from those before him, like she said. He would be fine.   
  
He glanced back over at the empty grave, then down to the birds, to the pentagram -- and his smile turned thin.   
  
It was the end of their era. Now, they were finally put to rest and were out of his way. Those who wanted to grieve could just come out here now and stay out of his way. If they wanted to mourn, he would allow it. But by dwelling on their grief, they would be missing out on the natural evolution of the church.   
  
“Thank you,” he decided to say one again -- for everything, this time.

Imperator released Copia's hand so that she could put hers on his painted cheek. He was suddenly very glad that he had set the makeup before going out for this.

The old witch met his eyes, but had no smile to offer. Just a sigh, though it seemed to be surprisingly far from a discontent one. Copia only wished he knew what was going through her head. Even with all he had learned so much about her these past few months, so much about her was still a mystery. She never intentionally yielded much about herself -- and apparently never would. 

"There is one more thing," she announced, releasing him to move away. A few paces from the macabre funerary scene stood a dead tree, sporting only a few branches that were strong enough to support the two gilded cages she had left hanging there.  
  
Copia watched as his mother walked towards the tree. How had he not noticed the cages there before? He had been so wrapped up in everything -- if he wanted to be Papa, a GOOD Papa, he’d have to pay attention to the little things. He cursed himself, but only briefly.   
  
Sister Imperator pulled the door open to the first cage, but plucked the other out of the tree and brought it back to Copia. Inside it hopped a small, red cardinal. A wisp of a creature, next to the dead birds awaiting their burial -- but it was vibrant, it was cheery, and most importantly, it was alive.

"You will never have cause to be on the receiving end of rites like these," Imperator said. "But the groundwork for the potential is always laid years in advance." She held out the cage. "Without a vessel, there is nothing to bind. The ritual could not be performed."  
  
They had planned for this? No, he couldn’t be surprised -- the Clergy planned for everything, just like she said. Copia, struck silent, took the offered cage without a word. He observed the cardinal inside for a few moments as it chirped and hopped along on its little perch. It looked to be in good health, and its energy was something to behold. It hopped, it danced, it stared up at Copia curiously now and again, eyes full of wonder.   
  
It reminded him of how he used to be as a cardinal. Things could change so quickly, even when one didn’t realize it. Copia felt a wave of fascination, and yet, at the same time, a spark of depression.   
  
“Sprightly little thing, no?” he asked to distract himself. He tried to poke his finger through the spaces in the cage, but his gloved finger was just a bit too thick for that. Besides, the bird didn’t look too happy with the gesture. “Very lively.” 

"Like his counterpart," Imperator agreed. 

A flicker of a laugh, albeit a bitter one, flashed across her features. Copia noticed that darkness -- was she thinking of Nihil’s failures? Of his brothers and _their_ failures? He wished he could just ask and _know_.

He hated the thought of being bound in this dead bird’s body. While he wanted to thank his mother again, he somehow doubted that she would want to hear it. So, instead, he just nodded his head to convey his understanding of what was to be done.

With the bird in Copia's hands, Imperator went back to the cage she had left in the tree. Its occupant had been offered freedom, but seemingly chose to wait until Imperator reached in to offer an assist. Despite the opalescent cataracts over its eyes, the large raven bounced its way up her arm and settled on her shoulder. Copia winced when it got a bit too close to her face, but watched as she solved the problem for herself, forcing it to find a more comfortable position.

"You can handle the rest." This wasn't a question, he knew, as she wagged her fingers dismissively in the direction of the pentagram. "I'll send the Ghouls to finish the disposal, when you're ready." Ah, so that answered that.   
  
Imperator did linger, though, despite the finality in her tone. She sucked in a breath before taking Copia by the chin. “Don't dwell too long,” she commanded. "They have not earned it."

And then she was off, back towards the rectory, gently swatting at the raven's beak as it tried to preen the fur collar of her black leather coat. It settled, instead, for a strand of her hair and -- much to Copia’s surprise -- she allowed this.  
  
He watched her go for only a moment, then turned to the empty grave.   
  
It was a garish thing, really, looking at it properly now. There was a massive hole in the ground, enough for the three coffins, and then the tombstone that simply read their shared name. It was more elaborate than he would have liked, but this sated some of the more rebellious Siblings.   
  
All was quiet in the graveyard again. He could hear the little sounds that he was missing until now -- the stillness of the snow, the creaking branches under the weight of said snow ... the chirping from the cardinal in the cage.   
  
Copia looked down at the bird, observing it carefully. Then, he walked towards the tombstone and took his place in front of it. The act amused him; it was a good, final way to show the disrespect that they had shown him. He chuckled at himself, then looked back at the bird. He hesitated a moment before opening the cage.   
  
What surprised him was how the cardinal seemingly took to him. Instead of immediately flying away, it perched on his hand, tail twitching and eyes blinking curiously. It seemed to be studying him. Being under the scrutiny of a bird felt ... odd, to say the least. Nevertheless, he smiled.   
  
“Don’t quite want to taste freedom yet, ah? Used to a cage, used to your life being dictated for you ...”   
  
Copia sighed deeply. No, that was unfair. Sister Imperator only meant well -- she had been helping him for his whole life. Of course it would be hard to stop, even when he had made it this far. He was grateful; of that, he was sure. But in the end, he had to fly on his own.   
  
He glanced over at the coffins once more, eyes narrowing into a glare.   
  
“Your era is over,” he said to the bodies in the coffins. Copia grinned triumphantly before continuing. “Now you’re going into the ground where you belong.”   
  
The new Papa held up his arm, beckoning for the cardinal to go. It hesitated before doing so, but it did. It took to the skies as majestically as Copia expected, singing a cheerful little tune as it did so. Before too long, he lost sight of it.   
  
All was silent once again.   
  
Copia rose to his feet very carefully and dusted the snow off of his papal vestments. The last thing he wanted to do was fall into the damn grave; he’d never hear the end of it from the ghouls that would have to fetch him out. So, he inched carefully away from the hole, then went over towards the birds one last time.   
  
It felt wrong to just leave them in the snow. Here, they were out in the open. Here, they could be noticed. And that’s not what Copia wanted.   
  
He scooped up the dead birds in his hands, making his way towards the grave. He dumped them in unceremoniously, not caring how they landed. If there was an issue, the ghouls would handle it.   
  
“Well, that finishes that,” he muttered to no one. “Best be off.”   
  
Copia felt strange as he walked away. Everything had gone according to plan; he was free as a bird now, able to handle things that came his way. He put the old era to rest and prevented the disgruntled ghosts from walking the halls of the abbey.   
  
So why did he feel eyes on him? When he looked around, there was no one nearby. Yet, he still felt like someone was watching him -- and that they disapproved strongly of him.


End file.
